


What You Want, What You Need

by bethaniel



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Bev & Richie & Mike work at a coffee shop, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Caffeine-scented fluff, Coffee Shops, Eddie is the manager lol, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Self-Indulgent, Stan & Ben are roommates, Stozier, The losers club don't all know each other at the beginning but they will I promise, cause fuck him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethaniel/pseuds/bethaniel
Summary: The whole mess would never have even started if Ben hadn't been a coffee snob. Wouldn't even have had a chance to start, really - where else were they gonna run into each other?Or, the Stozier coffee shop AU that I couldn't get out of my head.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	1. Dancing Clown Coffee Co.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, please be nice to me :,)  
> Title from "Perfect" by Marianas Trench

October hadn't been kind to Maine so far. Stan was sitting on the couch, staring out the window and willing the grey to go away. Fall was his favorite season - but even he had to admit that this was a little ridiculous.  
Him and his roommate - Ben, a picture-perfect history major that he found online - had forged a pretty solid friendship. They were both on the quiet side, content to skip the parties and spend the night inside; except when Ben's girlfriend dragged him out to the occasional party. On the inside, Stan relished the alone time. But he was thankful to have found the guy.  
"It's warm drink weather," Ben commented, sitting at their creaking kitchen table.  
Stan made a noise of agreement.  
"Wanna come get coffee with me?"  
Stan blinked, looking away from the window. "I gotta study."  
"Come on, Stanley, you haven't been studying for quite a while now." Stan huffed. Ben was right, he hadn't been focused, but he huffed anyway. "And besides, it wouldn't kill you to leave for ten minutes."  
Stan sighed, running a hand through his curls. He was out of arguments. "Alright, fine. The Starbucks down the block?"  
Ben gaped. " _Starbucks?_ "  
"What else is there?" Stan asked, unaware that he was committing a Ben Hanscom cardinal sin.  
"Oh you sweet summer child," Ben said, decisively snapping his textbook closed. "I'm about to change your freakin' life."  
He didn't know the half of it.

A brisk eight-minute walk later, they stood in front of Dancing Clown Coffee.  
Stan wrinkled his nose at the awful logo, a clown with a bulbous red nose and poofy hair. "No way am I going in there."  
"Don't let the clowns fool you," Ben said, cheerful despite their grey surroundings. "It's great coffee!"  
"Ben, _clowns?_ Clowns plural?" Stan said, but Ben had already steered them inside.  
The clownish decorations...weren't awful. The whole place had a warm, home-y glow about it. Which was, of course, permeated by the smell of roasted coffee beans. The caffeine addict in Stan melted.  
Ben was already halfway to the counter, and all of a sudden, Stan understood. Standing behind one of the antique-looking registers was Beverly, Ben's girlfriend.   
Her face lit up at the sight of them. She waved energetically, grin splitting her face. Bev was sweet - a little loud for Stan's tastes, but sweet, and she complimented Ben extremely well. And they'd been together since the ninth grade; Stan couldn't help but be a little envious. It was a textbook perfect relationship.  
He watched them kiss, pushing down the uncomfortable feeling he always got from PDA. She smiled at Stan, too. "Stanley! You finally made it!"  
He shuffled, hands shoved to the deepest part of his pockets. "What d'you mean?"  
"Well, it's been a semester and a half. It took Ben long enough to convert you."  
"I don't know about converting - "  
"Wait till you try the coffee, trust me." Ben's eyes twinkled.  
"If you head to the other register, my friend Richie will take care of you. "  
"Thanks, Bev," he mumbled, embarrassed, and walked over to the other cash.  
A tall, gangly boy with a mop of black hair waited for him. They made eye contact - and for whatever reason, some moment of cognitive clarity, Stan thought _oh no_.  
"Heya! First time?"  
Stan coughed. If Bev was a little too loud for him, this guy broke the decibel scale. His voice was low, coloured with a teasing cadence that made Stan's stomach drop. Richie, he remembered, his name is Richie. "Yeah, uh, I'm Ben's roommate."  
"Ah, our Benny boy! Well, you won't regret it. What can I getcha?" Stan noticed his hands. Namely, how enormous they were. His nails were candy-apple red, chipped at the edges; some part of Stan recognized that he probably bit his nails.   
"Uhhh…" Stan compulsively brushed his curls away from his face, squinting at the menu. "I'll take a…small dark roast, with milk."  
Richie smiled. "Good choice. Can I get your name for the cup?"  
"Yeah, uh, Stanley."  
"Cute name," Richie said, scribbling on the cup before lifting his eyes to meet Stan's. Embarrassingly, Stan could feel heat rising in his cheeks.  
"And, uh, an almond croissant." He didn't know where to put his hands - in his pockets, resting on the counter? Why was he so awkward all of a sudden?   
"Sure thing. That'll be…three fifty, Stanley." His name in Richie's voice felt completely unfamiliar.  
"Wow, that's…"  
"Cheaper than Starbucks?" Richie filled in, raising his eyebrows.  
Stan flushed, fumbled his wallet out of his jacket. "Yeah, exactly." He pressed the money into the other boy's palm. His hand was warm, chapped.   
"Come back, huh?" Richie said with a grin.  
Pushing the business, no doubt. Stan forced himself to smile and found Ben at the end of the counter.  
The coffee was worlds better than Starbucks.

That evening, as they were sitting on the couch watching reruns of some cooking show, Ben turned to Stan.  
"You okay?"  
He blinked, looking up from his phone. "What do you mean?"  
"Well, you've been quiet since we left Dancing Clown." He paused, searching for the right words. "In your head."  
Stan paused. He was in his head; it was sweet of Ben to notice. "Just tired, I guess."  
Richie's voice echoed in his head. " _Come back, huh?_ "  
Maybe he would.

Stan managed to hold off for two whole weeks before the price difference got to him. He was paying nearly six dollars for exactly the same thing he'd ordered at Dancing Clown and, fuck it, the coffee really was better. Ben was cramming for a test, and Stan decided to bring it up. Casually, as if he hadn't just been turning it around in his mind for the better part of an hour.  
"Do you want anything? At, uh, the coffee place?"  
Ben looked up from his 5-inch-thick textbook. "Dancing Clown?"  
Stan looked down at the floor. "Uh. Yeah."  
Ben grinned. "I knew I’d get you hooked. Just ask for my regular order, they'll know." Looking pleased as punch, he looked back down at the book. "Starbucks, my ass."  
Richie was behind the counter again, and Stan couldn't tell whether or not that was a good thing. Richie also noticed him right away.   
"Stanley! You came back!" He called, from across the store. Stan tried to keep from visibly wincing and made his way to the counter.   
"Yeah," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, hearing himself fail in vivid colour. "Just, uh, couldn't stay away from the prices."  
Richie's smile was the brightest thing in the place. "Ahhh, sure. The cute baristas helped too, I hope," he said, winking. Bev laughed from the other register. Once again, Stan felt his face get red.  
"Uh, I'll get a small dark roast with milk, and an almond croissant." He paused. "Oh, and, uh, Ben's regular order? Whatever that is."  
Richie punched the order in swiftly, unfortunately drawing attention to his hands. His nails were black, now, mostly unchipped. Stan felt himself wondering who painted them for him. He seemed too energetic to do it that clean by himself. Who did he let that close? A girlfriend, maybe? _Snap out of it,_ Stan told himself, harshly. _What do you care?_  
"That'll be five fourty, Stanley."  
He handed it over. "Thanks," he said. And then, inexplicably, "I'll be back."  
If it was possible for Richie's grin to get wider, it happened. "You better."  
It was only when Stan was about to throw his cup out that he realized Richie had doodled a heart next to his name.  
 _Oh no._


	2. Peterson Field Guide to Birds of North America

When did a habit turn into a dependence, Stan wondered? Was it when the sheer affordability (and great coffee) hypnotized him into visiting twice a week, or three times? Or, eventually, every morning?  
He supposed it didn't quite matter. Either way, it was ingrained into his routine: he was a regular now.  
Richie knew his order by heart. So did Beverly. Their co-worker, Mike, had stumbled a few times and given him a cheese croissant; everything in time, Stan thought. He hadn't seen anyone else behind the counter. The familiarity of the baristas helped Stan get comfortable.   
One barista in particular, anyways.  
Four weeks after Ben had introduced him to the place, he was given a nickname.   
"Stan the Man!" Richie greeted him as he always did, all smiles and perpetual bedhead. Stan's eyebrows shot up. Mike rolled his eyes.  
"Ignore Tozier, Stanley. He has a nickname thing."  
"It's called creativity, Mikey," Richie scoffed. "You should try it."  
Bev called Mike to the back, leaving Richie and Stan alone in the front. He swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly nervous, and plopped his book down on the counter to fumble for his wallet.  
Richie was already starting on his order, but backstepped to read the cover. He craned his giraffe neck awkwardly over the counter, so close that he bonked into one of Stan's curls. He held his breath.  
" _Peterson Field Guide to Birds of North America_ ," he read, triumphant.  
"Congrats, you can read." Stan braced himself for the teasing, the questions. Richie's eyes flicked up to meet his, and he saw no contempt.  
"Second edition, huh? I heard it blows the first one out of the water," Richie said, grinning and going back to scrawl on his cup.  
Stan didn't know what to say. He fidgeted with the book's plastic library covering. Thankfully, Richie filled the silence - as, Stan was figuring out, Richie was wont to do.  
"So. Birds?"  
It took him a moment until he recognized that it was a question. Stan nodded. "Uh, yeah. Liked them since I was a kid."  
"Why?"  
The question surprised him. Nobody in his life had ever followed up with a _why_ before.   
"I guess, I just…I dunno. I admire them." Tentative, foolish, he continued. "I like how free they look."  
Richie smiled, ran his hand through his hair. "That's really sweet, Stanley."  
Stan couldn't meet his eyes. "Uh. Thanks."  
He got his coffee and rushed to class.

A few nights later, Ben had his study group over. They weren't _so_ bad - just as shy and nerdy as Ben, really. But the amount of people in the two-bedroom played the violin with Stan's nerves.   
So, he did something he never did. He went out.  
With his bookbag on his back, he weighed his options. There was the college library, but if he was going to submit himself to that, he could've just stayed at home. There was Starbucks, but he cringed at the thought of dropping six dollars just because he was anxious.  
And so he found himself at Dancing Clown once again.  
This time, shockingly, there was someone in line ahead of him. He chose a table in the back opposite a window and tossed his raincoat over the side; all the while failing to notice the boy washing tables a few feet away.  
"Stan the Man's graduated to twice a day, I see."  
Richie's voice made him jump. "God, Richie, you scared the living daylights out of me!"  
"Aww, 'living daylights', how quaint. Can I getcha your regular?" Richie was grinning, clearly impressed with himself.  
"No, I'll take hot chocolate instead of the coffee."  
"Too late?"  
Stan nodded, mumbling something about his sleep schedule as he tried to get his curls under control.  
"Always keeping me on my toes, huh Stanley?" Richie smiled, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder and wiping his hands on his apron. The gesture was so nonchalant, so graceful, that Stan found it hard to believe it had come from Richie. "I'll bring it to ya."  
He came back a few minutes later. Stan already had his textbook open. With an inordinate amount of care, Richie put the cup down gently; with a warm start in his chest, Stan realized that he was doing it so that it didn't spill.  
"I didn't realize this place came with wait service," he said.  
Richie did a stiff little bow, immediately adopting a French accent. " _Mais_ , only for our most preferred customers, _monsieur_."   
Stan smiled despite himself. He found Richie holding his gaze, and he blushed, looking down at his textbook. "I, uh. I should get to studying."  
"Of course, of course," Richie said, still in a parody of French. He did another little bow, and then he was at the front of the store again. Stan's smile didn't fade.

Later, as he finished the last few sips of hot chocolate on the way home, something caught his eye. He stopped just as he was about to throw the cup into the bin. Richie had drawn something on the cardboard sleeve - a bluejay. It was drawn really well, personality captured with just a few Sharpie strokes. Stan ran his thumb along the lines, trying to understand.  
He slid the cup out of the sleeve, tossing it out, and stuffed it into his pocket; he'd have to think about it.   
The perplexing warmth in his chest was back.

After that, Richie drew a bird on every single one of his coffee sleeves. Stan never managed to see him do it - he drew so quickly it blended in to him writing Stan's name. Though he wasn't writing "Stanley" anymore. No, he'd moved completely to "Stan the Man".  
He started going to study there even when it was just Ben in the apartment. Sometimes they went together, studying in comfortable silence, always at that back table. Stan started to notice birds popping up in the art around the chalk menu - did Richie do those, too? Some tiny part of him hoped not. He wanted Richie's coffee-sleeve birds to be a secret, something just between them.  
Of course, he heavily chided himself for thinking that.  
He walked in after class one day and saw a new face behind the counter. His chest seized at the break of routine. He tried to convince himself that Richie's customary greeting didn't help.  
"Heyo, Stanley the Manley!"  
"That’s a new one," he mumbled, already getting out his wallet. The unfamiliar employee, a good head shorter than Richie, snapped his head up.  
"So you're Stanley," he commented, sorting through receipts. There was no menace in his voice, though that didn't diffuse Stan's anxiety.  
"That's me," he said. "Do I know you?"  
He peered up at Stan from his reading glasses with a friendly look. "I'm the manager. And I've been told you're monopolizing the attention of my best barista," he added, pulling a pen from behind his ear.  
"Uh…"  
"Don't listen to him, Stan," Richie said, handing him his coffee with a wink. "Eds is just jealous."  
"Eddie," the manager corrected, rolling his eyes. "Y'know, I always tell him that flirting's bad for business."  
Stan was stunned to see Richie's cheeks turn pink for once. He handed him the money, forcing himself to smile, to _breathe, goddamnit, breathe_.  
When he got home, he took the coffee sleeve out of his pocket and added it to the flock. Business, he reminded himself - this is all business. Eddie was wrong; Stan kept going back, didn't he? He sighed. How long could he fool himself under the guise of cost and quality?  
Staring at the pile of decorated sleeves, he could almost laugh.  
Almost.


End file.
